


And This Is How It Starts

by TheForgottenDreams



Series: I Said 'I Love You' [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Enjolras is a solo artist, Festivals, First Meetings, Flirting, Grantaire is in a band, Inspired by Music, M/M, Music AU, Musician Grantaire, Musicians, musician enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6274822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheForgottenDreams/pseuds/TheForgottenDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>' “Good luck fitting all that in three minutes of pop music.” He quirked an eyebrow, judging the bouncy curls, white V-neck, waist coat, honest-to-God skinny jeans, high tops. Hot, but in that boy band way. </p><p>“But neither of us sing traditional pop.” The blond argued back. Okay, this was actually nice even if Grantaire didn’t want to admit it and yes, he was so going to ask Google ‘who the hot blond angel that thinks he can change the world through music is’ when he gets home later. '</p><p>*</p><p>Grantaire is the lead singer of alternative rock band, The 1832 and he overhears a conversation between one very idealistic blond and one grumpy bespectacled man. Obviously, he can never keep his mouth shut and has to but it.<br/>Surprisingly it turns out well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And This Is How It Starts

“ _Sorry_ to interrupt,” except not really, “But that’s just plain wrong.”

And this is how it starts or always seems to, Grantaire mused, especially with the hot ones and because he’s a bit of a dick really – though his manager would chastise him for thinking that. He relaxed, waiting for the storm to form on the blond’s face, to turn the god-like features into something resembling a bratty child. But surprisingly it didn’t come and what contorted instead was something like ambition.

Well, that was different.

“So you think I’m wrong, to believe that music can change the world?” The blond asked, stopping in his tracks, quirking an eyebrow. The group of extremely attractive people he’d been with had moved on, not realising one of their members has paused, but one stayed back, next to him, closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. So apparently this type of this had happened before, Grantaire noted, and okay, maybe it wasn’t okay to join in a passing conversation, but his bandmates had left him by himself so they could go check out the tent with free booze and he was waiting for the time he was needed on stage.

“Not wrong, seventy percent naïve and forty-five percent delusional.” Grantaire replied, finishing his point with a sip of his beer – because he’d _already_ checked out the free alcohol tent unlike his friends who had actual physical instruments to set up. Perks of being a singer. 

“That makes over a hundred.” The blond pointed out squinting in the bright sunlight. It was barely into May but the sun was back with vicious attack and so they could run around in short-sleeved t-shirts, perfect festival weather. The breeze ruffled his golden curls, pushing a piece into his eyes, he batted it away belligerently.

Grantaire waved a hand dismissively, “I’ve never been good at maths.”

“Clearly.” Then the blond turned to the man at his side, “Ferre, you can go to the others if you want, I might be a little longer here.”

“You’re on in ten minutes.” The man raised his eyebrows from behind his glasses, brown eyes holding a tiredness so pure Grantaire assumed he was the blond’s manager, though he could be sick of guys attempting to flirt with his boyfriend. Either would fit.

“I’ll be there in time.” The blond smiled. “Have I ever been late?”

“No. Fine, if you know what you’re doing, but if you’re not waiting to go on stage at least two minutes before you’re called, I will make your life interview hell after this.” The bespectacled man said, the blond grimaced but nodded as the other man stomped away and honestly, Grantaire was amazed anyone could look so grumpy in a floral shirt.

“Boyfriend?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“Combeferre? No, he’s not my type. He’s my manager, normally a great guy but things have happened lately and he’s grumpy.” The blond sighed then licked his lips, “But, enough about him, where were _we_?”

“Correcting how wrong you are.” Grantaire quipped.

“The joint song?”

“I just think it’s a nice idea, that we musicians could come together to make a song with so much meaning that it moves people to change, to bettering themselves and the world, but it’s an idea, just that. People are shallow creatures, unless an issue directly affects them or they can gain something from it, they just don’t care.” The brunet explained, watching as the blond thought it over, “They’d listen to the song, probably think it’s nice and then move on to the next top forty hit.”

“And if we made them care, made the issues about them?” the blond prompted, eyes eager as he bit his bottom lip and damn, that should be illegal.

“Good luck fitting all that in three minutes of pop music.” He quirked an eyebrow, judging the bouncy curls, white V-neck, waist coat, honest-to-God skinny jeans, high tops. Hot, but in that boy band way.

“But neither of us sing traditional pop.” The blond argued back. Okay, this was actually nice even if Grantaire didn’t want to admit it and yes, he was so going to ask Google ‘who the hot blond angel that thinks he can change the world through music is’ when he gets home later.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean either of our fan sets would listen.” Grantaire offered, “Particularly when mine only care about getting high and laid. The majority see music as a break from their own problems and they leap onto it, but only on a shallow level, you know, they don’t care if we have like, issues as long as we make more music for them to escape to.”

“Your fans don’t see you as a person?” The blond inquired.

“I don’t know, maybe some of them do, but the majority are too focused on when they get their next fix to bother about some singer from some band.” Grantaire spoke with an edge to his voice, “To be honest I don’t blame them, isn’t that why we make music? To vocalise our problems?”

“But the problems don’t have to be specific to us. Everything I’ve wrote is about the bigger problems than my own.”

“But is that what you sing?” Grantaire countered.

The blond stared him dead in the eye and said in a monotone, “I’ve been banned from singing my own songs.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“Probably not.” The blond shrugged, “But the point is, they’re still there, still in my head and I tweet parts of them when I need to and the responses I get, they’re agreeing with me, asking how they can help and why nobody has already sorted these things.”

“So you’re exploiting them?”

“No, I’m educating them.”

“Sure.” Grantaire sensed the tension burning between them.

“Social media is a valuable tool if you know how to use it.” Yup, he was definitely going to cyberstalk this guy later on and he was definitely going to be drunk when doing so.

“Who are you?” Grantaire asked, wonder filling his voice that someone so full of hope and dreams could exist in such a cruel world.

The blond smirked. “You know how to use a computer?”

“Yeah, computer skills are, in fact, on my CV.” Grantaire told him with as much sass as he could muster, which, okay, was a lot. 

“Good, maybe you can look me up, there are some articles that might interest you, I’m on most social media. If you message me, we can carry this conversation on, since I have to be on stage in three.” The blond smirked and God, Grantaire had never been so happy to be cheeked by a smart-ass like this one. He pulled a red marker out of his trouser pocket, “Give me your arm.”

Grantaire complied, ignoring the obvious pickup line that threatened to burst from his lips as the blond started writing, the pen tickling his skin with each messy stroke. “I’ll look forward to correcting your naïve ways.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you try.” The blond smirked, finishing and putting the pen back in his pocket. He paused, they eyes locked together, twinkling in the sunlight, then the blond turned on his heel and jogged to the stage.

Grantaire shamelessly checked out how good his ass looked in those jeans for a long time, staring after the blond when he was long gone. Then he glanced down at the red writing on his arm. Cosette was going to kill him for that, apparently going on stage – especially when televised – with phone numbers on your arm wasn’t the type of look the band wanted. Oddly he couldn’t find himself caring too much as he read the words.

‘My name Enjolras, you should really look me up, my snapchat and instagram: ‘jolras_snaps, my twitter: @dontcallmeenjy, I fully expect you to continue “correcting” me x’

It wasn’t until his bandmates returned that he looked up from the writing scrawled on his arm, messy but joined, rushed but also elegant, the perfect scrawl to match the man. He heard his friends ask him questions but he shook his head, lips sealed, they rolled their eyes then hauled him away to another stage, away from Enjolras and his ‘music can save the world campaign’. He had to force his mind to performing, made himself focus on giving the crowd what they wanted.

“Inspiration struck and I want to try something new,” he said to the crowd, piecing the words together in his head, thinking of the blond man, of Enjolras as he did. Then he sang, without backing, just himself and his voice:

_“And this is how it starts, take your shoes off in the back of my van, my shirt looks so good, when it’s just hanging off your back…”_

**Author's Note:**

> The title was taken from the song 'Sex' by The 1975, Grantaire is obviously inspired by Matt Healy and 1832 is them because I couldn't think of an original name. Enjolras is inspired by Halsey which is more obvious later on. None of which I own so copyright can't sue me. 
> 
> If you want to talk headcanons or anything else, my Tumblr is beelzebertha.tumblr.com
> 
> I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
